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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27221098">Those Little Comforts</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenshewrites/pseuds/whenshewrites'>whenshewrites</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>SterekWeek2020 [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Comfort, Derek Hale is a Softie, Derek's Thumbhole Sweater, Fluffy, Halloween, Idiots in Love, M/M, One Shot, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Pre-Relationship, Stiles Stilinski is a Little Shit, Stiles Stilinski is a Mess, soft, sterekweek2020</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:41:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,822</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27221098</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenshewrites/pseuds/whenshewrites</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Stiles remembered he wasn’t the only one with memories that haunted his Halloween. And that might’ve been why he showed up at Derek’s front door with one of those tiny pumpkins in each hand.</p><p>The man didn’t look impressed.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>SterekWeek2020 [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1990420</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>302</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Those Little Comforts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="">
<p></p><div class=""><p>When Stiles used to think of the autumn season, he’d think of three things. </p></div><div class=""><p>Baking, pumpkins, and colored leaves.</p></div><div class=""><p>Halloween used to be his favorite time of the year. He remembered the days when his mom would handmake his costume and they would spend the day decorating the house or pressing dry leaves into the pages of old notebooks. She’d bake more and more in the days leading up to Halloween and they’d usually end up having too many leftovers for a small family of three.</p></div><div class=""><p>Stiles remembered trying to bake alongside her and always getting eggshells into the cookie dough. When his dad would come home, they’d carve pumpkins the day before Halloween, and Stiles had always been grossed out by the pumpkin guts. His mom would save the seeds, claiming she was going to plant them in the upcoming year.</p></div><div class=""><p>She never did.</p></div><div class=""><p>Stiles still lived for Halloween. Of course, he did. </p></div><div class=""><p>Though, before werewolves, he had enjoyed it a lot more. Because back then, seeing a ghost or a monster on the streets was something that just happened once a year. Stiles didn’t take in each costume and unconsciously compare it to what he’d seen in real life. He didn’t jump when one was uncannily similar to whatever Monster of the Week they’d been chasing earlier, trying to pretend like he wasn’t internally freaking out.</p></div><div class=""><p>There were still certain parts that reminded him of before, though. Stiles found himself in the preserve more than once looking at the red and orange trees. He dug through his mom’s old cookbook and did his best not to burn down the house, grinning at his dad’s reaction when the man caught the smell of her favorite cookies.</p></div><div class=""><p>Sometimes, Stiles remembered that he probably wasn’t the only one with old memories that haunted the current season. And that might’ve been why he showed up at Derek’s front door without a warning one day, grinning brightly with one of those tiny pumpkins in each hand.</p></div><div class=""><p>The man didn’t look impressed.</p></div></div><div class="">
  <p>Because yeah, Stiles was pretty sure he still got underneath Derek’s skin. He wouldn’t call them enemies exactly, not anymore. Enough years had passed that Derek seemed to have accepted his fate and the teenagers that basically lived in his loft. Though, Stiles wasn’t sure if he could call them friends either. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Maybe. Sometimes, he thought. Like when he crashed on the couch after pack night and Derek would wake him up with a cup of coffee and a strange look on his face as the man pretended Stiles didn’t exist for the rest of the morning. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Right now, though, Derek looked more than confused at Stiles’s sudden appearance. So he didn’t give the man a chance to kick him out, ducking underneath Derek’s arm and moving into the loft.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Good afternoon, Sourwolf. How are you doing on this lovely fall day?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Stiles,” Derek said, sliding the door shut and turning around. “What the hell are you doing here?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Geez, dude,” Stiles said, plopping down on the couch. “Can’t a guy with tiny pumpkins show up for an unexpected visit once in a while and not get growled at?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Derek narrowed his eyes. Stiles snorted.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Fine, whatever, be like that. It doesn’t matter, because we’re gonna carve pumpkins!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The man looked at him for a long moment, a little bit of red in his eyes. And Stiles figured if he was going to die in any way, this might be the most embarrassing. But instead of ripping his throat out or even growling a little bit, Derek just turned away and moved into the kitchen.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Stiles stared after the werewolf for a moment before shoving himself up and stumbling after him.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Dude, Derek, where are you going? Hey! You’re a terrible host!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Derek had his back toward him when Stiles stumbled into the kitchen. Coming to a complete stop, he blinked at him and then sniffed suspiciously, moving over to the man’s side. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Why does it smell like chocolate in here?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Go away, Stiles.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>But Stiles ignored him, peering over Derek’s shoulder. There was a giant pot on the stove and Stiles blinked at it before looking at Derek curiously. “That’s hot chocolate.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“So?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Can werewolves actually have chocolate?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Derek did give him a red-eyed look this time and Stiles raised his hands in surrender, backing a step away. He figured it still wasn’t too late to get his throat ripped out and the last thing he wanted to do was step over one too many lines. But this… this was domestic. He noticed for the first time that Derek was in nothing but sweats and a red thumbhole sweater, a dishrag thrown over his shoulder. And it was so painfully <em>domestic</em>, Stiles felt like he might have walked into an alternate dimension.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He glanced around the kitchen, noting how quiet the loft was too. Usually, when he came over, there was at least one beta around somewhere. But it was completely silent now.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“So, have the rest of the werewolves abandoned ship then?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“They’re at a movie.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“And their Sourwolf alpha didn’t want to go along?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Once more, Stiles got a red-eyed look. He swallowed nervously and willed his heart not to flip at that. He might have failed though, because Derek’s ears turned a little red too and the man turned away, stirring the stovetop hot chocolate a little more aggressively than before.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Stiles turned away, wandering back into the living. Dropping back onto the couch, he picked up one of the pumpkins and turned it over in his hand, chewing on his lower lip thoughtfully.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>A few seconds later, Derek came out with two steaming mugs. Stiles blinked in surprise.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“So I’m not getting kicked out then?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Shut up,” Derek said, setting down one of the mugs in front of him. The man glared at the miniature pumpkins. “And how are you planning on carving those?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It’s possible,” Stiles said, shrugging. To be honest, he wasn’t actually sure if that was true. But giving it a try wouldn’t do any harm, right? “Do you really think I could have lugged two normal-sized pumpkins all the way up here?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I don’t know why you’d attempt in the first place.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Stiles dropped his gaze, chewing on his lip again. And to his silence, Derek raised a brow.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Stiles?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It used to be a Stilinski family tradition,” Stiles said, shrugging. He really hoped he sounded as nonchalant as he was attempting to be. “Pumpkin carving. But my dad’s working the next few nights and there’s no way I’m touching pumpkin guts alone.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Derek’s lips twitched. “Pumpkin guts?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yes, dude, that’s exactly what they are. And no, I won’t be taking constructive criticism.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I don’t think those pumpkins are big enough to contain pumpkin guts,” Derek said, bringing his mug to his lips. Stiles glanced at the one in his hands and sighed.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yeah, probably not.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He’d debated attempting to carry two pumpkins up all three flights of stairs, he really had. Because in the end, Stiles knew himself best, and there was no way he was taking two trips. But he also knew himself well enough to know that carrying both would end up in nothing but catastrophe.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Stiles set the pumpkin back down and picked up the mug Derek had brought him instead. Studying the man over the top of it, he took a careful sip and then grinned.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Dude, this is actually really good!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Derek rolled his eyes, but Stiles could have sworn his ears turned a little red again. And once more, Stiles thought it was some kind of miracle that he hadn’t gotten himself kicked out yet. But then again, watching Derek quietly, Stiles wondered if he had been sort of right.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Maybe Derek didn’t want to be alone.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It was the little things, Stiles supposed. Setting his mug back down, he pushed himself up and vanished into the other room for a second before coming back out with two sharpies. To Derek’s raised-eyebrow expression, Stiles grinned again.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Just because we can’t carve them doesn’t mean we can’t do something. I hope you have one or two artistic skills, Sourwolf, because I have none.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You’re an idiot,” Derek said. “You realize that, right?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Or an unorthodox genius,” Stiles shot back, grabbing one of the pumpkins and tossing it at the man. Derek caught it with a surprised grunt and then glared. Stiles smirked. “I know I’m not the only one with a Halloween tradition. What did you use to do?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He half regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, but then it was too late. Derek’s face did something strange and the man glanced down at his hands for a long second before answering.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“There were little things,” he said quietly. “Laura and I used to do hot chocolate and scary movies. Back in New York.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Stiles glanced down at his mug and then looked toward the TV before turning his gaze back to Derek. The man was still avoiding his gaze. “And that’s what you were gonna…”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yes.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Alone?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>If there was any time Stiles was going to get kicked out of the loft, he figured it’d be now. But Derek just shrugged and Stiles couldn’t help the pang that struck through him. Glancing around, he grabbed the nearest blanket and wrapped it around himself, nestling the mug against his chest.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Well, I guess the pumpkins will have to wait until later, then.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Derek gave him a sharp, almost warning look. As if he expected Stiles to make fun of him or crack another joke or something. But Stiles just offered up his best smile and nodded toward the remote.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I’m game for a good scary movie.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>For a moment, he was almost nervous that had been the line he wasn’t supposed to cross. Inviting himself into the loft had been one thing, but if this was too much—</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Stiles—”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Derek,” Stiles said, taking one more step and cutting the man off. “I’m here.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Derek looked at him for another long moment. And then there it was again. That small smile that seemed to tug at the corners of his lips, even if it never became the full thing. Derek didn’t do anything but grunt and grab the remote, leaning back, but Stiles figured he’d take it as a win. He’d take anything that didn’t involve getting his throat ripped out as a win.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Just a warning though, big guy,” Stiles said, huddling deeper underneath his blanket. “I don’t do jump scares.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Derek rolled his eyes. Stiles grinned. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And if there was a large lump pressed up against him less than half an hour later, Stiles wouldn’t say anything. No matter how much he really, <em>really</em> wanted to. Especially because there still hadn’t been any jump scares yet. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>(And there were two pumpkins scribbled over in black sharpie by the doorstep when the betas came home.)</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So I'm doing SterekWeek2020 on Tumblr and my last one-shot was too short to post here (I guess I could? I might?) but I figured I could share this one! I hope to do the rest up until Halloween, so I look forward to seeing you all then!</p><p>I'd love to hear your thoughts &lt;3 And I hope you're all having a lovely spookyseason so far!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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